Roaring At The Sun
by Signs of Dusk
Summary: HIATUS


**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who.**

Prologue

"We are rarely proud when we are alone."

-Voltaire

He ran.

There wasn't a single moment where he wasn't running. And that _tore_ him up inside.

The Doctor slammed the doors of the TARDIS shut without much forbearance, his two hearts beating frantically within his heaving chest. He wanted nothing more than to stop, for just a second, to pause in his never ending waywardness. But that would go against the very core of his nature. He couldn't stop—wouldn't stop—not even if he wanted so desperately to.

Understanding that time was quite a precious thing, the Doctor hardly squandered what little he had to regain his breath and instead rushed to the control console to prepare his beloved ship for departure. His hands scrambled across the various dials, buttons, and levers with seemingly a mind of their own. He didn't know what he was doing or where he intended to go exactly, but his mind did well to compensate for his lack of focus.

It was difficult to concentrate on the present while his thoughts were so often jumping back to the past.

He could still hear the sounds of their screams ringing in his ears, feel the ground crumble as his world fell apart. His skin still felt hot from the fires that were burning his entire home in a Hell of his own doing.

The knowledge that he had been the one responsible for the extinction of several races, including his own, bore heavily upon his conscience and weighed his shoulders down. Such was his reward for doing what was right for the greater good instead of letting things unfold on their own without his intervention.

His hearts only began to calm in their erratic beats at the familiar sounds of departure, the pulsing whirl of the TARDIS bringing him temporary comfort. But his blood still raged hot within his body, curdling his anger to intolerable levels. He displaced some of that anger by slamming his fists down upon the console, breathing thick through his nose.

But it wasn't enough.

His fists came crashing down repeatedly upon the controls in spite of the ship's indignant hums. All of his anger easily bated aside the sympathy the TARDIS attempted to sooth him with, such tumultuous emotions too strong to be easily dissuaded. He raged upon his poor, innocent TARDIS, roaring out a mixture of anger and grief.

The strength in his legs gave out just as his anguished cries died in his raw throat. The Doctor fell to the floor and sat there in defeat, clutching his head in his sore hands as he curled in himself. Struggling to forget what had been permanently seared into his memory.

Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was _them_.

The TARDIS lurched inexplicable, humming out in indignation. The Doctor paused, puzzled by the disturbance. He looked to and fro, as if by doing so an answer would be presented to him. Sadly, this wasn't the case and his beloved ship shook with another violent tremor that had him staggering. By the third he was flying all about as the TARDIS was thrown out of its intended path, careening every which way and sending him spiraling.

The jolt of impact vibrated throughout the control room, causing the disconcerted Doctor to unintentionally bang his head upon one of the coral branches. He hissed sharply through his teeth, rubbing at the spot that would mostly form a bump in the next few hours.

It could've been worse, he told himself. But what had knocked them prematurely out of the Vortex and where exactly had they landed?

There was only one way to find out. So, with an aching weariness, he rose to his feet and shuffled to the door. The second he peered out into the world he had been unceremoniously brought to, he was assaulted by the familiar grating sound of a creature's agonized scream. And not just any old creature, he realized soon enough with a heap of dread.

The cries just had to belong to a Dalek.

The wretched thing lay toppled over in a rather large crater, screaming in a mixture of anger and pain. Tongues of fire licked various patches of dirt and lapped at the Dalek's metal shell. He had to wonder if the alien felt the burn of the flames and was therefore screaming because of it. Or perhaps the journey itself had rendered it completely mad.

Whatever the reason, it needed to be destroyed, plain and simple. The damn thing had somehow managed to escape its species' genocide; it would not remain alive for long.

The Doctor advanced towards his adversary. Blood and rage sang loudly within his veins as he prepared again for battle—one that would be swift.

He was in the middle of withdrawing his photon gun when beams of light descended on them both, halting the Doctor momentarily. He looked around through squinted eyes, noticing the formation of several heavily armed humans encircling the outer fringes of the crater. Armored vehicles pulled up with men dressed in hazmat suits and wielding equipment meant to test for radiation.

Blundering fools, the lot of them were.

"Drop the weapon and put your hands in the air!" A distinctly American voice boomed from a megaphone, the man's warning nearly drowned out by the Dalek's persisting cries.

The Doctor eyed the squad of soldiers with a look of vehemence, infuriated by the level of superiority these stupid apes thought they possessed. Just because they were humans didn't mean they were automatically the center of the universe. They hardly were even significant, especially when in the presence of a Time Lord such as himself.

He ignored their command, firing at the lone Dalek without much thought or care, knowing full and well that if he were to hesitate, he would likely never get a second chance.

The Dalek had hardly exploded when the soldiers descended upon him, some of them firing rampantly in what would later be allegedly in self-defense. Not that they had any reason to fear that he would turn on them. He may have been filled with such rage born from seemingly endless battle and thought humans were generally stupid and irrational creatures, but even he wouldn't dare bring them harm. Yes, they were annoying, and yes, they were ignorant. But they were also quite brilliant. Well . . . except now. Right now they were back to being a nuisance.

Luckily, most of the shots missed him but one stray bullet did manage to knick his hand, causing him to reflexively release his weapon. Now disarmed, he wasn't perceived as much of a threat anymore and the gunfire ceased. However, that didn't keep him from being treated with every bit of caution possible.

The Doctor's arms were seized and the back of his knees kicked at so that he fell to a knelt position. He didn't fight them when they poked and prodded him, unable to hide their fascination for his war torn alien clothing, and he didn't fight them when they started searching him for further weapons.

He merely sat there, feeling himself slowly disconnect with reality now that everything was finally over and it had all begun to sink in.

He was the last of his kind, the last of the Time Lords.

He was alone. So very, very alone.

The Doctor hung his head and wept.

**Author's Note: This is connected with Howling At The Moon. They can be read together or separately but they are in the same universe (relatively speaking). And it will feature the 9th, 10th, and 11th doctors.**


End file.
